Zut alors! Les rosbifs sont revenus

The smartly dressed Parisien meat-dealer was chewing his last forkful of braised French veal at a restaurant behind the Champs Elyseés when the news came through. He started to choke. "They've lifted the ban on British beef? How disgusting. It's nothing but a political victory for Tony Blair!"

Apologising for being impolite, he demonstrated what he thought of Mr Blair and his beef by slapping his hand on his forearm in the universal gesture that translates roughly as "up yours".

"In 1987, the British totally screwed the whole of Europe by bringing us their disease. I don't think any French restaurant with a conscience will buy British beef. I haven't eaten it for 15 years and could never let it pass my lips again, the stress it caused me ..." He wouldn't give his name, for fear of selling even less meat than he already did.

In the late 1980s the dreaded maladie de la vache folle marked a new nadir in the Anglo-Gallic love-hate relationship.

The political insult and injury so beloved of the odd couple was never worse than when it involved a culinary spat. Not only could the British rosbifs not cook a decent steak without burning it, they were now exporting a fatal disease and dragging down European farming with them.

Even after the rest of the world welcomed limited sales of British beef from August 1999, the French refused all imports from the UK. Nick Brown, the beleaguered agriculture minister, swiftly declared his own personal boycott of French cheese, wine and pastries to teach the patronising French a lesson.

France's agriculture minister insisted he wasn't just being mean towards "our British friends" but he did not want to see the French poisoned against the advice of their own health experts.

The European commission took France to court until it fell into line more than three years later.

In the Aux Amis du Beaujolais restaurant in Paris's 8th arrondissement, Ali Nostratean, owner of a local travel agency, was standing at the bar, napkin tucked into his pinstripe suit, sending back his braised veal for more sauce, before spooning on the mustard. "The French used to be obsessed with mad cow disease," he tutted. "We used to ask where all our meat came from all the time. Then we forgot about it and stopped asking. I'm in London all the time. I eat rare steaks there, look at me, I'm still alive!".

Standing next to him at the bar, Madame Gros was watching her cholesterol. She'd never eat any kind of beef and British beef especially made her feel ill. She ordered the salad.

In the past decade, there has been a proliferation of signs in French restaurants proclaiming the pedigree and local slaughterhouse of the finest French beef. "Frankly, it has just been a marketing coup for French produce," said a British property developer eating pork.

"To be honest, I'd completely forgotten about mad cow's disease. Is British beef still banned here?" asked Alexandre Guilpaen, who had just finished his veal while avoiding French chicken because of bird flu.

Since France became the first EU country to discover H5N1 avian flu in farmed turkey, it wasn't mad cows that flashed before people's eyes, it was the thought of whether Frances's president, Jacques Chirac, could really be trusted when he posed eating a fistful of chicken at a French agricultural show before smiling through greasy lips and instructing the nation that French poultry was perfectly safe. It was similar to a scene in 2003 when the shoe was on the other foot and Prince Charles was dispatched to the British embassy in Paris to stand in front of the cameras eating a pink slice of Welsh beef, diplomatically demanding a glass of French wine to wash it down with. Margaret Beckett had let the side down the previous year when she declined some beef at a Parisien food festival explaining that she didn't eat between meals.

Meanwhile France, Europe's biggest poultry producer and exporter, has seen a dip of 30% in domestic sales over the past few weeks since bird flu was detected.

More than 40 countries have banned French exports of chicken, foie gras and other poultry products. At least one mayor has taken chicken off school menus. Yesterday, figures showed consumption was rising again after promotions on chickens at supermarkets. But it was still down 15% on last year. In a climate where growing numbers of domestic cats are being abandoned over fears of them catching bird flu and where one newspaper ran a detailed fact box answering the question: "I've just found a dead pigeon on my balcony, what should I do?", chicken is the new culinary pariah.

Two streets away, Madame Anne-Marie Equios's brasserie, Le Fronton had almost sold out of its braised rabbit. Since bird flu came to France, she had removed poultry from her menu. She'd bring back chicken when it was safe, but there was one dish that would never return. "Oh no, I'd never ever serve British beef here regardless of the EU. We give the customers what they want and they definitely don't want British beef. The French aren't afraid of dying, but they want to die in good health if you see what I mean," she said.